


Firsts

by Wallwalker



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alcohol, Character Study, First Times, Growing Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 23:05:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallwalker/pseuds/Wallwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A handful of notable firsts in the young life of Darrien Tabris, Grey Warden to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firsts

There was no first time that you realized that you would be expected to marry someday, when you were old enough. It was a simple fact of life, a part of living in that Alienage, a way of making your lives easier - and Maker knew, anything that the elves of the cities could do to make their lives easier would be welcome. You used to wonder what sort of wife you'd have someday, what sort of person they would choose for you. You were fairly sure you wouldn't meet her until your wedding day, and that was probably for the best in this sort of thing.

Whoever they chose for you wouldn't be the one you'd choose for yourself, anyway. You'd known that for a very long time. There was never an exact moment that everything made sense, just a long string of moments, sidewise glances and stares and realizations - you know that there should probably be a day that you can point to and say, _This is when I knew who I was,_ but it never was that clear-cut. 

You never really told your father; you wonder if he already knows, but there was never any real need to tell him, somehow. It wouldn't change the direction your life would take; you would marry and find work in Denerim, and that was that. You did tell your mother, one day when the two of you had gone to practice your archery (that much your father would allow; he would not have approved if he had known about the lock-pick lessons!) And your mother had smiled and hugged you and said she understood, and after that she mixed her lessons about traps and poisons with bits and pieces about poultices and sheepskins, things you would need to know when you were old enough, she said (although she never said when that would be.)

The first time you kissed another man, you were barely more than a boy. He was a married elf who had come to Denerim with his wife to join her family, although he swore that his wife was aware of his proclivities, that they had a sort of agreement; it gave you hope for the future, hope that you might find such a wife, that you would not spend the rest of your life in a marriage that stifled you. He taught you much, showed you things that hands could do that you couldn't even imagine before, but when you asked for more he balked. Perhaps it was because saying that you asked it of him was an understatement; even as a young man you were very demanding. Mostly it was because he was not used to such things from a young man, although you unsuccessfully argued that some of the others in the Alienage had been married for years by the time they were your age. It was frustrating, the way that he patronized you, and so you stopped going to him, and after a few more years the two were gone - mostly on amicable terms, but there was still more bitterness there than you like to admit.

There were many other firsts, and you wish you could remember more details of your intimate affairs; life was difficult, especially with your mother gone, and you often eased the pain of it in ways you find uncomfortable to remember. You know that the first time you learned what mouths could do it was with Alarith, who woke up beside you in his bed the next morning and filled in the gaps in your sodden memory. You still remember him fondly; you and he were good friends until the day came when you left for Ostagar, and you still hope to see him again when you return to the city. Some of the others were not so kind, and you have woken up in pain several times. You have no taste for pain, you've learned over the years. The cruelest ones you found and dealt with - it wasn't difficult; the elves watch out for each other, and someone's always willing to help you find someone. And your mother taught you how to leave traps, how to kill without leaving a track to lead back to you. Fortunately, though, you only rarely had to resort to that; most of them were simply callow people, elves and a few curious humans, all of them willing to share a night of fun, or a few weeks playing at committment, as if any of you understood what that truly meant back then. There were many things you would never do - you _never_ accepted payment, or offered it, for a night of sex - but aside from that you were eager enough to experiment, although you did your best to keep your mother's lessons in mind.

You expected those nights to be over the first time you were told of your bride-to-be. Even if the two of you could come to some sort of arrangement, the appearance of fidelity was important, or else the humans would cry blasphemy and take whatever else they could away from you and yours. You stopped drinking - Alarith and Shianna were by your side for the worst of it, as you sweated and cried out - and you tried to stop the other things, although old temptations died hard. Hopefully your bride would be as amendable to an arrangement as the wife of the first man you kissed. Hopefully these things would not have to end outright. You were more than willing to compromise, as long as the two of you were not careless.

But when the day itself came, and the woman... things turned out nothing as you'd thought they'd be. Your life abruptly became more dangerous, but also far more exciting. Your only regret as you left Denerim was in leaving your cousins behind, and the few friends you had left; you had never thought you'd be able to actually leave the city, and you were looking forward to seeing the rest of the world. 

Maker, but you were so naive. You'd thought you'd learned something of danger in Denerim, but you knew nothing of danger, or horror, or pain. Every day you bless your mother's memory, and her lessons. But that is a longer story, and best told another time, for even now it is not yet over.

One more first time stands out in your mind - the first time you met the golden-haired elf who spends his nights curled up beside you in your tent, sleeping so restlessly that he twitches and opens his eyes every time you make a sound, only to smile that secretive little smile and nod off again when he sees you. When you first spoke to him, he was lying on the ground, helpless, your knife at his throat - you had been ready to kill him, until he'd looked up at you and started to laugh, and in the end he had offered his services to you. 

You smile at the memory. You certainly hadn't expected one of the few bright spots in all of this to be an assassin, a man who had quietly slipped behind you as you were distracted by his magus and stabbed you in the back with a poisoned knife. Your mother had been right, long ago - never let it be said that the Maker didn't have a sense of irony.


End file.
